


*insert creative title*

by DaNcInG_BoOkWoRm



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Dystopian, Forced into military service, Future, I am still not a squid, Parent Death, Short Story, Xandria is a much nicer person then I am, alas, romance free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:01:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29275866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaNcInG_BoOkWoRm/pseuds/DaNcInG_BoOkWoRm
Summary: Yeet or get yeeted is the big brain way of life in this old ghost town- wait...wrong story.Excerpt:“Every year.” The announcer on the stage starts, the same way the speech starts every year. “One hundred participants of under age 20, above age 10 are chosen from around the states to take a test. It is completely randomized.”“Pass, you will go back home with the prize money.”  Tunes in a higher pitched voice which belongs to a woman.The original man continues “Fail and you will be required to join the army.”





	*insert creative title*

“Excited?” my mom asks feigning excitement, but I could really tell she was holding back tears from the wobble in her lip and furiously blinking eyes. 

‘What’s there to be excited about’ I want to grumble. I want to scream profanities at the sky about the unfairness of it all. But I don’t, knowing full well it’ll make the situation worse. For my mom, and me.

I try to keep a smile plastered on my face and act like I don’t know what’s going to happen, “Yeah! Selection day is coming up soon, and if I get chosen I can get us more money for food”

She seems to buy my fake smile. 

“Well,” she says leaning across the old creaky counter to grab a stale cupcake with dry frosting.”Happy fourteenth birthday”

“Thanks mom.” I say while ripping the cake in half and giving her the bigger part. She refuses and pushes it back to me saying “it’s your birthday.”

“Every year.” The announcer on the stage starts, the same way the speech starts every year. “One hundred participants of under age 20, above age 10 are chosen from around the states to take a test. It is completely randomized.”

“Pass, you will go back home with the prize money.” Tunes in a higher pitched voice which belongs to a woman.

The original man continues “Fail and you will be required to join the army.”

“Completely randomized” a man, around 50, yells. He laughs bitterly and grumbling starts around him.

“No one ever gets the prize money”

“The ones who don’t follow your every command are the only chosen”

“Are the children going to be claimed missing again?”

More and more yelling and screaming.

A shot fires. 

Dead silence and everything freezes.

I crane my neck to see if the shot had hit on instinct, but I can’t see through the mob that suddenly was rushing around. My mother grabs my hand and drags me through the panicked citizens. 

We duck under the rope and I catch a flash of the man who had originally cried out being carried away. 

Dead.

“Xandria-“ the man up front calls out the rest of my name as he reads it off a list, but all I can hear is the ringing in my ears and my beating heart. My mom clutches my arm tightly, but I shake her off and give her a reassuring look.

“You’re our next generation” a woman’s clipped, emotionless tone projects across the crowd. “The future, you will serve the states proudly and die not in vain, but respected by all. The council will always respect and be grateful for your help.” The woman’s drones on and on and I eventually tune out. 

Volunteers pass out black jumpsuits with matching combat boots. “Dismissed” the woman calls. 

Sweat drips down my face and I can barely stand from exhaustion. The fellow recruits around me are in similar conditions. “Keep it up a man yells. “Training doesn’t end until I give the say so” 

And again we go. 

Again. 

Again.

Again. 

And again.

When the stern man finally leaves we all collapse gasping for breath on the ground. 

Three never leave those training grounds.

“Last visitor day” our trainer says. “Say your goodbyes, or whatever, I don’t care.”

“Mom” I whisper as she runs up to me and hugs me as if she will never let go. When she sets me at an arm's length after what seems like hours, but could’ve only been a few minutes, she studies my face and mutters with horror, ”what did they do to you?”

I grin, trying to stay strong for her, ”I’m fine right? I’ll be home before you know it.”

She nods, neither of us believing my words. 

We jump as red lights begin flashing all around us. 

“Illegal weapons have been found” a siren blares and the message repeats. My mom tries to hug me closer, but I pull away and whisper “run.” 

“Sorry I couldn’t protect mom, dad” I whisper.  
The last thing I see before two guards grab my shoulders and steer me to the disgusting cells with rotting bodies is my mother screaming and the utterly defeated faces of the rest of the recruits.

After that, only complete and utter darkness as I land hard against the cobblestone floor and cry years worth of pent up tears.


End file.
